


the seeds of yesterday

by charjo



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Hanahaki Disease, Multi, Post Oathbringer, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrificial Ideation, internalized... mononormativity?, teeeeeechnically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charjo/pseuds/charjo
Summary: Everything's coming up roses.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes u gotta project. dramatically. with a lotta unnecessary prose, extremely unnecessary lack of communication, and near reckless disregard for the recently released source material that you've only completely read through once

Thinking about the past couple of months made Adolin’s head spin. So much had happened in such a short amount of time--the imitation spren debacle, the trip to and infiltration of Kholinar, the slog through Shadesmar, the battle against Odium’s army, Shallan’s family arriving, his and Shallan’s wedding… storms, everything had happened so _fast_.

The whirlwind had passed, though; at the moment, Adolin was determined to make the most of what he had. Especially on lovely days like these, as he and Shallan strolled around Urithiru’s now-bustling streets. Watching the people around them talk and haggle and laugh, Adolin could forget the looming threat of Odium for a while. With his wife--his _wife!_ \--holding his arm, occasionally stopping to examine wares, it was harder to remember the screams, the carnage, the destruction--of Kholinar, of Thaylenah, of Alethkar.

Adolin was okay with that.

Kaladin trailed behind them at a respectful distance. He'd been talking to Lyn, but she'd peeled off at some point, leaving Kaladin straggling behind alone. He probably felt too awkward to join them now.

Adolin wished he would. Their group dynamic had been wonderful, even when he'd thought they were competing for Shallan's affections. But now it was… weird.

He'd said he was happy for them, that he didn't resent Shallan for picking Adolin. He'd attended their wedding. But lately, Kaladin had been so distant, Adolin had to wonder if he'd been lying about that.

Perhaps he was jealous, despite his claims. After all, even when Shallan wasn't present, he'd been awfully stiff around Adolin too. And sometimes it seemed as if he was avoiding _both_ of them.

Well, Kaladin's loss. He'd get over it, Adolin was sure. He and Shallan had been making a definite effort to include him, so it was only a matter of time until the weirdness dissipated.

Speaking of. Adolin waited for Kaladin to look at him, then smiled and waved for him to join them. Kaladin's expression--already about as readable as a stone wall--closed off even more, and he looked away. Like he was pretending he hadn't seen the gesture. Adolin sighed.

“He's still doing it?” Shallan asked, noticing his face.

“I don't know what's going on,” Adolin muttered. “Did we do something to upset him that I don't remember?”

Shallan turned around to stare at Kaladin for a moment, then huffed and faced forward again. “I don't know, but I don't like it.”

“I don't either. You'd think he’d just talk to us if we're doing something wrong, but apparently whatever we did is too heinous even for that.”

She pursed her lips. Adolin shook his head at himself. Here he was, ruining their outing by bringing up something he'd thought he’d let go.

“It's fine. He'll come around. Let's enjoy the day, shall we?” He tugged her closer and kissed her temple, and she hummed.

Behind them, Kaladin suddenly began to cough.

It was a loud, hacking cough, so severe that both Adolin and Shallan turned to look at him in alarm. Kaladin had angled himself away from them, shoulders shaking with the force. Adolin stepped forward to pat him on the back, but he jerked away.

“Are you all right, Bridgeboy?”

“Fine,” Kaladin managed to wheeze out between coughs. “Just something--my chest--”

Another wave wracked him, so violent he bent over; but this time it seemed to do the trick. Adolin heard him spit something into his hand, and his breaths began to even out.

He also saw Kaladin’s entire body go still as he looked at his hand.

“What's wrong?”

Kaladin didn't respond. Adolin tried to peek over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of red.

“Stormfather, Kaladin, is that _blood?_ "

For the second time, Kaladin flinched away. “No. It's fine.”

“Kaladin, if you're coughing up blood--” Shallan began.

“I said it's fine!” Kaladin snapped, closing his fist tightly. “Who’s the one with medical training here?”

Shallan took a step back at his sudden ferocity. Kaladin glared at her for a moment more, then at Adolin, then turned and stalked off without another word.

“Storms.”

Adolin blinked. “That was unexpected.”

“What do you think is wrong?” Shallan whispered, moving a little closer to Adolin.

“I don't know.” He wanted to say something comforting--“he'll tell us when he's ready”, perhaps, or “I'm sure everything's fine”--but with Kaladin's recent strange behavior, he couldn't say either with confidence.

What was going on?


	2. Chapter 2

A woman with a hacking cough had come to see Lirin, once, when Kaladin was eight. He'd sat in on the examination, answering the questions Lirin tossed his way, watching as his father grew progressively more confused at the lack of symptoms the woman displayed. She’d claimed a hacking, wheezing cough, but there was no excess phlegm, and her lungs sounded fine when Lirin had her breathe deeply for him.

Lirin had been about to dismiss her entirely, until she'd had a coughing fit then and there. Sure enough, it had sounded exactly as she had described, despite the fact that there was no reason to.

At the end of it, she'd spit three white petals out.

Kaladin kept his hand clenched until he was back in his room. He closed and locked the door and took a deep breath--no pain, no sign of inflammation, no logical reason for his cough--before tossing the contents of his hand onto his bedsheets.

Syl followed the trajectory. “Kaladin, this is bad.”

“I know.”

She assumed her human form, poking at the flower petals with a finger, face scrunched up with worry. “I've been checking, the past few days. I don't know what this is. I don't know anyone who does. I don't know how to get rid of it. I… I've never seen anything like this before.”

“I have,” Kaladin whispered.

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“I've seen these before,” he repeated, looking at the petals. “In Hearthstone.”

She stared at him a moment. “You couldn't have said that _before_ I went asking all sorts of unsavory spren for information?”

“I was hoping it wasn't what I thought it was.”

“And what was that?”

He shook his head. “Something I hoped to never see again. Much less experience.”

Syl waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she stomped a tiny foot. “You're being so vague!”

“I don't know a lot about it, Syl,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And what I do know is so muddled, I'm not sure if it's true.”

“Fine.” She folded her arms, frowning. “You can explain what you do know, then.”

Kaladin sat heavily on the bed, avoiding the petals. Did he even want to explain?

Did it matter?

“It started with a woman who was in love with the baker’s daughter.”

But they hadn't known that, at first. All they'd known was that a woman was somehow expirating real flower petals, despite never having inhaled any.

Lirin had gone digging into his limited resources for answers about the flower cough, but had come up with none. No surgeon in the surrounding areas had ever heard of such a fantastical concept, even in theory. It was only when Hesina mentioned a folk tale she'd heard from a passing merchant in her youth that any progress was made.

The legend told of a spren attracted to unrequited feelings. It acted almost as a parasite, feeding on the victim’s feelings and producing flowers petals to be disposed of, usually accomplished by coughing.

Syl frowned more as he said it, but didn't contradict him.

Lirin had taken the story with a grain of salt. Spren weren't often parasites, after all. Even rotspren were only indications of infection--they didn't cause or worsen it. But eventually, they had concluded that unrequited feelings had been involved, and at least aggravated, if not caused, the symptoms. Whether or not a spren was involved remained unclear.

“So that's what this is about?” Syl’s frown deepened. “The Lightweaver?” She went back to examining the petals. “I thought you were over that.”

Kalasin’s eyes flicked back to the petals as Syl pored over them.

“Is that what the colors mean?” She cocked her head. “Oh, yes. This one looks like her hair, and this one looks like her face when she blushes a lot. And this one looks like her eyes.”

He closed his eyes at her pause.

“No, that can’t be right. These ones don't make sense.” He could hear the puzzlement. _“This_ one looks like her eye color, so why is there another shade of blue?”

He didn’t respond.

“And this one is almost gold. Nothing about her has this color. I don’t even think she’s worn it.”

She was right. Shallan hadn't worn gold in the time he'd known her.

Syl finally noticed his silence.

“Kaladin?”

It took a moment to muster the words. To say them out loud would be to break some sort of pact with himself; to acknowledge the forbidden, to make the secret real.

But the secret was already real.

“It’s not just Shallan,” he whispered.

Syl looked back at the petals.

_“Oh.”_

Somehow, that one syllable hurt just as much as anything else she could’ve said.

Kaladin pushed it aside. It didn’t matter that much.

“Adolin, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Syl crossed her arms again, but in more of a thinking way than a judging way. “That complicates things.”

“Yeah.” He avoided her gaze.

She waited a beat before continuing. “Did your father find out how to cure this?”

“Sort of.”

There was no physical way to treat it. No physical evidence of a source of the petals even existed, that Lirin could tell. Surgery was a dangerous risk, and one wrong move could be fatal.

The problem didn't lie within the body; it seemed to come from the heart or the mind.

“That's why Stormlight doesn't work,” said Syl, nodding. “You think of it as part of yourself already, because it's your feelings.”

Lirin had based his treatment on that principle. The problem of unrequited feelings was easy enough to solve, in his opinion--if one told the object of affection about said feelings, the rejection forced them to get over the feelings faster. And, if the feelings weren't actually unrequited, the problem was solved even faster.

Kaladin hadn't understood, at the time, why the young woman had shied from that solution. Now, he understood all too well.

In lieu of that, Lirin advised avoidance. Cutting out the cause of the symptoms--refusing to interact with or even think about the person--would likely solve most of the issue.

And the young woman reported that it had. Mostly.

That didn't help Kaladin, though. He couldn't avoid Shallan and Adolin. Not for lack of trying, but they worked together; and, more importantly, they were his friends. It didn't matter how many missions he took, how abruptly he left, how far away he went, how long he was gone--they didn't care. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, they just kept coming back: soft, worried glances when they thought he wasn't looking, or invitations to spend time with them, together or alone.

They probably thought he was feeling left out. Well, that wasn't untrue.

But even if he could avoid them, there were… other complications.

The woman had rushed back in one day, gasping for breath. Kaladin vividly remembered the flower petals spiraling behind her as she stumbled through the door, coughing uncontrollably. It had taken a tense half hour before the coughing eased and she was able to explain.

She hadn't planned to run into the person she'd been avoiding, she'd explained miserably. But she had, and that person had just... looked so _happy_ to see her.

And that was all it took. The feelings she'd been holding back had returned with a vengeance, as had the coughing. Ignoring it did nothing, in the long run--maybe even worsened it.

“That's probably only a problem if you ever see them again,” Syl mused. Kaladin gave her a weary look. “What? I’m just saying.”

“My father figured that, because the feelings were intense enough to produce a physical effect, ignoring it like some sort of normal attraction wasn’t going to work.” Kaladin leaned back against the wall. “The only way to treat it was to either actively work to get over it, or to discover that the feelings weren’t actually unrequited. We weren’t willing to risk surgery, there were too many unknowns.”

“So what happened to the woman you were talking about?”

He shrugged. “My father told her the options. She listened, she said she’d think about it, and she left. About a week later, I saw her walking down the street, hand in hand with the baker’s daughter, breathing normally.”

“Aw. That’s good.”

“I think she’d said something about the baker’s daughter not liking women. She must have been wrong.”

“Or the baker’s daughter was her way of getting over it,” Syl countered.

“In a week?”

Syl spread her hands. “I don’t know. Lots of humans work differently than you.”

“Yeah, well…” He sighed. “We had a few other cases, but my father told them what he told her, and nothing much came of it. Some of them worked out and ended up in a relationship, some didn't. Either way, no one died.”

She walked onto a petal and settled primly onto it. “So what you’re saying is that you have to tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell them.”

“Why not? It’s getting worse, isn’t it? And your father said that’s how you cure it. Either they like you back, or they don’t.”

Kaladin looked away. It _was_ getting worse. He'd never had such a bad fit in public before, and never when Adolin and Shallan could see. Normally he’d been able to excuse himself and find an empty room or hallway before the coughing began.

It had been unavoidable this time.

Worse, he was running out of viable excuses for his cough lasting so long--especially with access to Stormlight. Renarin had already asked if he’d needed assistance, since his regular Stormlight intake didn’t appear to be doing anything. He’d ducked the question, unwilling to explain.

Getting over them was the only option. Shallan had made her choice clear, and Adolin was devoted to her. Both of them, at the same time… it wasn’t possible.

Kaladin knew why Lirin had advised the young woman to tell the object of her affection about her feelings. It removed the ambiguity from the situation. If the feelings were requited, the problem was solved. If they weren’t, it gave the patient closure. It was the best option.

But he couldn't do that.

Adolin and Shallan didn't deserve such a disruption. Their lives were finally some semblance of normal; how could he take that from them, so soon? Especially when they all knew how rare and precious normality was, with Odium’s threats still looming over them. Telling them could throw them--and potentially their relationship--into chaos. He didn’t have a right to do something like that.

He could protect them from it. It was the least he could do, after all they'd done for him.

And what would they think of him, if they knew? People didn't love more than one person at the same time. That wasn't right. Even Adolin, with all his dating mishaps, had never dated or given any indication of having feelings for more than one person at any given point. This was wrong, this was bad, and the disgust they would certainly feel would distance them from him.

If he told them, he would lose them.

And as much as he abhorred his current affliction, he hated the thought of losing Shallan and Adolin entirely more.

“I'll find another way. We didn't find out everything we could have, back in Hearthstone. There has to be some other option, to get over them.”

“Do you have that much time?”

He didn't have an answer for that. While his feelings were incorporeal, the petals definitely were not. It was only a matter of time before something went seriously wrong.

Syl stood and walked to his knee, looking up at him. “I don't want you to have to endure this any more than you have to. If telling them will cure it, I think you should do that.”

“It's not that simple.”

“It sounds like it is.”

“It’s not,” he snapped, sweeping the petals onto the floor. “I'll deal with it. Without telling them.”

He could. He would.

He had to.


	3. Chapter 3

Veil studied the occupants of the tavern she was in, casually avoiding looking directly at one man in the corner.

He hadn’t noticed her, yet. That surprised her, to some degree. Kaladin Stormblessed was usually quite aware of his surroundings, but tonight, he was just sitting in the corner, staring at his mug of lavis ale.

Concerning.

It wasn't luck that led Veil and Kaladin to the same tavern at the same time, obviously. Unless Shallan had renamed her motley little spying crew ‘luck’. Veil wrinkled her nose at the concept.

She was there because it was rare to find Kaladin in a tavern at all, and even rarer to find him in one alone. Usually he was squashed around a table with his bridge crew, barely nursing his drink while listening to his friends talk. So when Shallan got wind that Kaladin had gone drinking alone, Veil had had to check it out.

Sadness didn't suit a man like Kaladin, Veil mused. Not that it was obvious he _was_ sad--his face remained as intensely impervious as ever--but something about his eyes spoke to an exhaustion that had no business being there.

Time to find out why that was.

Veil made her way over from the bar and plopped down on the seat across from him. The only acknowledgement that Kaladin noticed her presence was a grunt and a stoic nod.

“That stuff isn't very effective on us,” she said, kicking her feet up on the chair next to her. “If you want the real experience, you should go for some Horneater white.”

He didn't look at her. “You assume I'm here to get drunk.”

“Well, yes.” She gestured at their dank, dimly lit surroundings. “I can't imagine you enjoy the ambiance. Not when you could be out there, falling through the air faster than the wind itself.”

Kaladin didn't say anything.

“So, what _are_ you here for?”

“Not small talk.” He leveled a stare at her. “And you're not here for that either. What do you want?”

Fair enough. “Why are you avoiding them?” she asked, without preamble.

He took a long pull from his mug. “I'm not.”

“Chull dung,” Veil immediately responded. “Are you sick?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Stormlight isn't working?”

“Can't.”

“Is it your...?” She tapped the side of her head and raised her eyebrows.

He shifted in his seat and didn't respond. Veil huffed.

“We can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong.”

“I think that's the point.”

Veil stared at him a moment longer. Most of the time, she liked his broody, closed-off attitude, but it could be a pain. “They care about you, you know.”

Kaladin scowled, raising his mug again. “What exactly was the point of you coming to talk to me? I know everything you hear is going to directly to Shallan’s head.”

She shrugged, unfazed at his harsher tone. He was deflecting, which meant she was getting close to something. “Shallan thought it might be easier for you to talk to someone who didn't look like her or Adolin, but she still wanted to hear about it.”

“She was wrong.”

Maybe a different tack. She leaned in, as if confiding in him. “She was thinking about sending Pattern, but your spren is a little too sharp for that.”

Veil thought she heard a pleased coo from somewhere to her left, but Kaladin gave her a flat stare. “Flattering my spren won't make me trust you more.”

She leaned back again, with an air of nonchalance. “That's fine. Just thought you should know.”

He wasn't buying it. Storms, it was so much harder to get what she wanted out of people who knew about her and Shallan.

Kaladin rose, setting his mug down. “I'll know if you follow me. Don't.”

“Wasn't planning on it,” Veil drawled. She watched him shoulder through the crowd by the door, and only let her face fall when he was out of sight.

\----

“We really thought it would work,” Shallan told Adolin in bed that night. “But he knows I hear whatever Veil does. It makes things difficult.”

“Well, you know him,” said Adolin, eyes closed. “Even if he didn’t know, he’d still clam up tighter than a rockbud. That’s how he gets when he doesn't want to talk.”

“Yeah, I know.” She traced his face gently with her freehand. “I'm still disappointed, though.”

"We'll reach him eventually,” he reassured her, cracking open one eye. “Even rockbuds open up for rain.”

“Very wise.”

She felt his smile before she saw it. “Thank you.”

It was soothing, mapping the lines and curves of his face, in a way she couldn't quite describe. It helped her think, sometimes; helped her mind slow down so she could examine the thoughts running through her head and out of her mouth.

"Adolin… why are we spending so much time worrying about Kaladin?”

“He's our friend,” Adolin answered after a moment, almost defensively. “And we both know something’s wrong--something he won't address.”

Shallan smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “I didn't mean to say it was a bad thing. Just that… we wouldn't do this for many other people, would we?”

He considered her, then looked off into the distance. Thinking. “Well, no, but this is Kaladin. He's different than anyone we know.”

“Everyone is different than everyone else we know. What makes him so much more different, that we spend significant amounts of our time together discussing him?”

She could see him thinking a few moments more. Then he sighed--a little huff of air that brushed against her fingers--and his eyes shifted back to meet hers. “You liked him, didn't you?”

Caught off guard, she stammered. “Well--yes, but--”

“No, no, I know,” he interrupted, smiling gently. “But--I brought it up because I wanted to tell you that I did, too.”

“Oh.” The implications of such a statement took a moment to sink in. “Oh!”

Adolin chuckled. “Yeah. Maybe we're focusing so much on him because we both--had feelings. For him.”

“He's very easy to fall for,” she said, still processing his confession.

“ _Right?_ ” Adolin snorted, then lifted one shoulder. “I might've gone for it, too; but being in the immediate line of succession means that heirs are necessary.” He smiled at her again, soft. “And, you know, you came along.”

“Hm. I'll ignore the implication there and take that as a compliment.” Shallan let her head fall onto his chest, and Adolin wrapped his arm around her. “Good to know how much we have in common.”

She felt his chuckle and smiled. It faded, though, as she returned to thinking about their original topic.

“What are we going to do about him?” she whispered. “I don't want to lose him.”

“Me neither. But I don't know what else we can do. He'll talk to us when he's ready.”

Shallan almost didn't want to give voice to her next words, for fear of them becoming truth. “And if he doesn't?”

Adolin was silent for a moment. “He will,” he finally said, with certainly false confidence. “He wouldn't be so dumb as to lose us both.”

Here, in the dark, with Adolin held close, she could almost believe that.

No use worrying about it now, when nothing could be done, she told herself firmly, snuggling closer to her husband. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, they could try again.

Just when she thought he was asleep, Adolin spoke again. “Have you--have you ever heard of those… the Azish marriages? Where more than two people get married to each other?”

She blinked. “No, not that I recall. My foreign experience is limited to where I've been.” It took a moment to formulate her next question. “How do you know about it?”

“Jakamav was teasing me, once. Before I met you. I looked into it, but never with any real interest.” He paused, then said in a rush, “I swear, I wasn't thinking about it when--I didn't--”

Shallan hushed him, trying not to laugh. “I believe you. Is it a real thing, or something Jakamav made up?”

She felt him relax. “It's real. A little uncommon, but real. They have to have laws for everything, there.”

“Hm. I assume you're thinking what I'm thinking.”

“Safe assumption.” He sighed. “He'd never agree, though. Especially not with the mood he's been in.”

“Yeah. Not to mention, marriage is a _really_ big step.”

Adolin snorted. “I wasn't saying we should immediately jump to marriage. Just--if there are marriages like that, there are relationships like that, too.”

“I know, dear.” She poked his shoulder. “But Brightlord Brooding-Eyes would never. He's far too upset with us for that.”

“For whatever reason.”

“Mm.” Shallan echoed his sigh, then chuckled. “Can you imagine? ‘Hey, Bridgeboy, you want to marry us?’”

“I can just _see_ his face. He’d think we’d been possessed by another one of the Unmade.”

She giggled. “Yes, possessed by Dai-Gornathis, the Black Fisher. Because we’re _fishing_ for his affection.”

Adolin’s entire body shook as he laughed, and Shallan let herself enjoy being swept up in his amusement at her terrible joke.

“It'd be nice, though, wouldn't it?” she said after a moment, softer.

Adolin kissed her forehead and rested his chin on her crown, the last vestiges of his laughter trailing off. “It would. But I'm happy with what I have now, too.”

She smiled into his chest, and let the conversation trail off.

It was an enticing possibility, obviously. But since it depended on Kaladin’s being agreeable to the notion… well. It would probably be for the best to let the idea die.

But as Adolin’s breathing slowed, and as her eyelids began to grow heavy, Shallan let herself imagine what it might be like if there was a third person beside them, breathing in rhythm with them both.


	4. Chapter 4

It began to feel like a physical lump in his sternum. A weight, invisible to others, that he carried around with him everywhere. When he saw either Shallan or Adolin, it _demanded_ attention, making his breath hitch and his chest hurt.

Seeing both of them, together, was the worst. Kaladin had thought at one point that he simply didn't like them together, but he knew now that the emotion that welled in him at the sight of them was a strange, painful combination of envy, wistfulness, and despair.

He hated that.

Syl stopped pestering him about telling them after a few days, but she still shot him a look every time he cleared his throat. He pointedly ignored it.

After all, it didn't matter. The only way to get rid of his problem was to get over them, and he didn't have to tell them to do that.

It was time to start putting this behind him.

Unfortunately, his feelings disagreed. His heart refused to stop quickening at any glimpse of them, and his eyes sought them out without permission. Despite his pain, despite his regret, he still loved them; and that was not something he could simply cast aside.

Kaladin had been able to avoid them, for the most part, but whenever Dalinar called meetings, he was duty bound to attend. Shallan and Adolin had begun taking advantage of that to sneakily approach him and try to get him to talk.

This one would be different. This time, they had foreign ambassadors to charm; Kaladin could simply drift from group to group as he saw fit to duck their advances.

It was the perfect opportunity. Kaladin would be able to see them, but he didn't have to interact with them.

Quashing the issue could finally begin.

He felt Shallan’s gaze land squarely on him as soon as he walked into the room. She was itching to confront him, he could tell, but the presence of others they knew in the room--and the presence of important people they didn't--protected him. He'd have to leave quickly.

Adolin entered behind him, giving him an overly friendly smile as he passed. Kaladin tried not to inhale the scent of his cologne and pretended he didn't see.

He pretended not to see the flicker of hurt across Adolin’s face, either.

Instead, he focused on the telltale itch beginning to manifest. He breathed deeply and forced himself to think of unrelated things.

It didn't quite ease, but he didn't burst into a coughing fit.

Progress.

That wouldn't last long, especially if he kept looking at them. Best to take the small victory and try another step at a later time.

Kaladin moved to join a small batch of Thaylen visitors chatting with Dalinar, nodding politely. He put his back to Shallan and Adolin, and the painful sensation in his chest dulled. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Too soon. Adolin and Shallan skirted around the room to intercept a group directly across from him, right in his line of sight.

Kaladin muffled the immediate fear at the flare of pain. This was the next logical step in the process, just accelerated a bit. He could handle it.

Then Shallan brushed a speck of dust from Adolin's uniform and smiled up at him, and the surge of emotion that that prompted--wistfulness, yearning, a sad, sour heaviness-- and the responding throb of the lump at his sternum made him instantly regret coming to the meeting at all. He forced down the tickle in his chest and looked away.

But he could still hear them.

Adolin greeted the visitors warmly, and the cadence of Shallan’s voice took on a diplomatic cast. It made him think of their trip to Kholinar--the authority with which Shallan could carry herself, if she wanted, and the enthusiasm that Adolin brought with him to everything he did.

He refused to cough. He could stand it, no matter how great his discomfort. He could push past it.

A Thaylen woman was speaking, in his group. Kaladin tried to focus, but the lump near his lungs seemed to grow ten sizes for everything he could sense from either Shallan or Adolin.

Shallan's twist in tone as she cracked a joke.

Adolin's loud, jovial laugh, echoing through the room without shame.

Kaladin shifted and cleared his throat, trying to assuage the prickle in his airway without giving in entirely. Dalinar glanced his way, but didn't comment.

The way Shallan watched Adolin laugh, smiling in an achingly sweet way.

The way Adolin leaned towards her in his joy, like she was pulling him in.

“Are you all right, Brightlord Radiant?” the Thaylen woman asked as he cleared his throat again. He nodded and waved her on, trying to keep his attention fixed on the conversation.

Despite his effort, his eyes strayed, inadvertently seeking them out again. Why did he keep going back?

Shallan briefly touched Adolin's shoulder with her safehand, then blushed.

Adolin nudged her with his elbow, grinning.

The person speaking probably could've stabbed him, and he wouldn't have noticed. All of his attention was now fixed on them, like he was under a spell.

Adolin, eyes darting between the people speaking, nodding earnestly when they paused.

Shallan, frowning thoughtfully, giving a careful response that had the group members murmuring in approval long before she finished.

Adolin, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Shallan’s ear.

Shallan's tiny head tilt towards him in response.

The pressure of the cough was building, so much that Kaladin couldn't pretend he would be able to hold it back any longer.

Shallan's gaze flicked to him, and she smiled.

Kaladin yanked his eyes away.

_Not here._

“Excuse me,” he managed to choke out, stepping back and nearly running for the door.

He escaped into the empty hallway, lungs screaming. It took excruciating minutes to find an unoccupied room, all the while holding his breath and keeping a hand over his mouth, hoping to keep the cough at bay for a little longer. He headed for the back wall, intent on getting away from the door so no one would hear.

He got about halfway across the room before he couldn't hold it back anymore.

Syl spun around him as he sank to the floor, coughing like his lungs were trying to exit his body, flower petals coming up in clumps. “Kaladin, just tell them!”

“ _No_.” Petals littered the floor, red and blue, pink and gold. Mocking him.

“You could die!”

“That was never proven.”

“Because everyone your father treated ended up being honest about it, I assume!” Syl zipped to the ground in agitation, assuming her tiny human form again. “Kaladin, let them help you. However they can.”

“They _can't.”_ Flower petals danced around him, and he sounded hoarse when he spoke next. “I have to get rid of this myself.”

Syl gestured up at him. “Why haven't you _learned,_ yet? You don't have to do this alone!’

“This, I do.” The slight change in topic allowed him a brief respite, and he scrubbed a sleeve over his mouth, panting. “I can't do this to them. It wouldn't help anyone.”

“It would help you!”

“No. The risk is too great.” He thought of how they would look at him--shocked, disbelieving, incredulous, disgusted--and doubled over again.

“You don't have to protect them from this. You don't need to. It's not worth it.”

“It _is._ This would complicate so much. I can't--I _can't_ do that to them! They don't deserve that!”

“But you don't deserve this!”

He didn't respond.

Syl watched the petals flutter from his mouth, then set her jaw. “If you're not going to help you, I will.”

“No! Syl, don't--”

He tried to stand and go after her, but the mere thought of Shallan and Adolin discovering him as he was made him collapse back to his knees, coughing.

_Ironic,_ he couldn't help thinking, as the veritable blanket of petals around him grew thicker.

“Kaladin?” he heard Adolin call, frighteningly soon. They must have been looking for him already.

The door burst open behind him. He hunched his shoulders, suddenly wishing he was a Lightweaver so he could hide himself in the middle of a room.

“Jezerezeh. Kaladin!”

He refused to look up at them; even when they skidded to a halt before him, even when they dropped to their knees next to him. He forced himself to think of other things, to be able to breathe.

It didn't work.

“Kaladin, what--”

“It's nothing,” he interrupted, through the coughs. “Syl is overreacting.”

“Stormfather, you absolute chull of a man, this is obviously not nothing!”

“Shallan--”

“Adolin, look at him!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the layer of flower petals around them, voice rising to a shriek. “He could choke, he could stop breathing, he could--he could _die!”_

Adolin reached for her, touching her arm in an effort to calm her. Unfortunately, seeing that started off another round of coughing. It was such a small thing, but somehow it held so much meaning to them--and to him.

Shallan seemed to get the message, though. She took several deep breaths, and when she addressed Kaladin next, her voice was closer to its normal pitch. “Is this why you've been avoiding us?”

He didn't answer. Shallan took it as the confirmation it was.

“How bad is… whatever this is?”

“It's nothing.”

“It's very bad,” Syl interjected, materializing near her shoulder. “It used to be only a few every once in a while.”

Kaladin tried to glare at her, but the tears in his eyes threw it off. “It’s _nothing.”_

Adolin reached for him almost exactly like he had for Shallan, but Kaladin jerked back, coughing harder. “What can we do?”

“Nothing. I'm fine.”

Shallan seized one of his hands in both of hers so he wouldn't edge even farther away, glaring at him ferociously. “Don't give us that. Not when you're nearly choking on--on whatever these are.”

“I didn't even know this was possible,” Adolin said, picking one of the petals up. “Are you producing these? Did you eat something that is?”

“It doesn't matter.” Storms, he couldn't let them get to the truth. “Leave me alone.”

“ _Kaladin_ ,” Adolin pleaded, and this time he didn’t have the strength to pull away from the hand he laid on his shoulder. “Please, we want to help you.”

Shallan still had his hand held in both of hers, but gentler now. He couldn't pull away from her, either.

He spit out more petals to be able to speak. “You can't do anything. This is something I have to deal with alone.”

Adolin reached to grab his other shoulder, turning Kaladin towards him. The blatant, soft concern on his face triggered another bout almost immediately. “You could at least talk to us about it! We could--I don't know, research, find out what it is, how to cure it--”

“I already know what it is,” Kaladin snapped miserably, once his airway had cleared. “And I know how to cure it.”

“Then do it!” Shallan said.

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

Everything _hurt_. His chest ached: from the coughing, from the lump, from the feelings he refused to air. His eyes stung with tears: from the pain in his lungs, from the naked worry for him written across their faces, from the effort of keeping the truth inside.

“Because I don't--I don't want you to have to face the truth. I don't want to face the truth.”

Adolin drew back a little. “It's related to us? We caused this?”

“No! No, I…”

Stormfather, there was no way out. There wasn't any other way to explain this that would sound convincing.

Syl stared at him, arms crossed. He met her gaze, then looked away.

Did it matter, if they knew?

Surely they would leave him anyway. It was simply a matter of when.

And when that time came, he wouldn't be able to protect them from anything. Much less this.

Better to be alive to protect them from something greater than to die protecting them from this. At the very least, he could keep an eye on them from a distance after they left him.

“It's because I'm--it's because I'm in love with you,” he finally gritted out, staring at the ground so he didn't have to meet their eyes. “Both of you.”

He could feel them react--Shallan straightened up a little, moving her hands a fraction of an inch, and Adolin’s grip on his shoulders lightened--but Kaladin didn't look up.

“This--” he gestured at the petals with his free hand-- “this happened in my hometown, my father had to figure out how to treat it. It won't go away unless you love me back, or until I get over you. And I've been _trying_ , but I see all the little things you do--and all the little things you do with each other--and I keep falling deeper.”

Kaladin’s ragged breaths, interrupted by the occasional expiration of petals, filled the silence that followed.

“You… love _both_ of us?” Adolin finally said, disbelieving.

He almost laughed. _“Yes_. I know it's horrible, and--and _wrong_ , but I do.”

“But…”

“I _do_. Almighty, I do. I… I love how you fix your hair when you think no one’s looking, and your dimple when you smile, and the way you look when you're practicing stances for dueling. How you concentrate on it, how your body moves.” He turned his head so he was speaking in Shallan’s direction. “I love how you’ll blush at anything but snap back anyway, and your intense focus on the things you love, and the way your head tilts when you're thinking about something new really hard. I love how your hair looks in the sun, and how your chin raises and your eyes narrow just before you verbally decimate someone.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth like the petals had. He was just as helpless to stop.

“And I love how in love you two are.” His voice cracked painfully, but he forged on. “I love how you look just before you kiss him, and I love how you smile after she kisses you, and I love how you pull each other close every chance you get. But I _hate_ myself for loving it. For loving you. And for--for wanting that love for myself.”

Silence.

Stormfather. There was a part of him that had relaxed the moment the truth had forced its way out of his mouth, but the rest of him screamed in agony. Shamespren began materializing around him, almost indistinguishable from the actual petals. He'd given in so easily, faced with this pressure; now he would lose them both.

“Kaladin, you've been--” Shallan's voice cracked too, unexpectedly. “You've been living with this pain because of us?”

“ _Not_ because of you. Because of me, and my storming feelings for you.”

Shallan tightened her grip again. “No, don't you _dare_ do that to yourself. We should've done something earlier.”

Kaladin coughed hoarsely. “You couldn't have known.”

“There’s no use playing the blame game,” said Adolin, carefully adjusting his hold on Kaladin’s shoulders. “What matters now is fixing it.”

“You can't. I can't.” Tears dripped down his nose and splattered onto the flower petals. “I've _tried_. I’m trying, I'm _trying_ , but it's taking so _long.”_ He gulped for air. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.” _This will only make it harder._

“Why didn't you _ask?”_ Shallan whispered, and Kaladin became aware that she was rubbing her thumb over his hand. “If it was hurting you so badly…”

“What would it solve?” he asked, hearing the despair in his own voice. “What could telling you possibly achieve? You're in _love_. You're _married_. It would only make you feel bad. It _will_ only--I couldn't do that to you. I shouldn't have.” A hiccup escaped him. “And--Stormfather, you two could’ve--I didn't want you to feel like you had to fix any of this. To try to--to force yourselves to love me back, or something like that.  I can get over it _._ I will.”

Even with his head bowed, he could tell that Shallan and Adolin were exchanging a look. It was enough to make him miserably choke up a few petals.

The silence stretched to the point of unbearability. Kaladin wished they would just end it, already. Get it over with.

Then he could finally be rid of his ailment, and--if he was lucky--he could continue protecting them from a distance.

One of them sighed a little. Then, Adolin carefully tugged him close, moving his arm so it was around Kaladin's shoulders, and Kaladin’s head dropped onto Adolin's chest in exhaustion. Beside them, Shallan scooted closer and pressed to Kaladin's side.

_What?_

This was wrong. He couldn't let himself have this, couldn't indulge in a way that could only hurt all of them.

But between Shallan's warm presence on his left and Adolin’s firm, yet gentle, hold on his shoulders, he was powerless to end it.

Adolin’s heartbeat was quick, but steady. Shallan was still holding his hand.

Stormfather, this would make it so much worse when they let him down.

“I see where you're coming from,” Shallan began softly, and Kaladin braced himself. “But… it doesn't have to be--it doesn't have to be as hopeless as you think it is.”

Sensing his disbelief, Adolin picked up Shallan's trail of thought. “We--ah--Kaladin, we’ve been talking. About you. A lot.”

He felt Shallan sigh; exasperated, but fond. “In a good way. We’ve been worrying about you; perhaps more than would be normal, or sensible. Actually… a good deal more than sensibility would dictate.”

Kaladin turned his head, barely, to see her face. She looked--not only sincere, but apprehensive at her own sincerity.

“It's not… we don't think it's, it's wrong. You, loving both of us, because we--we, um…” She huffed, frustrated at herself. “What I mean to say is that if you--if you like us, in that way--love us, even--then… well, I don't think we would object, really, to that. And I don't think either of us would object if you decided to--to not get over us, because--we… we liked you, too.”

The world seemed to stop.

“Both of us,” Adolin added, and Kaladin could feel him tremble at the admission. “If that wasn't clear.”

It had been hard enough to breathe as it was; now he felt as though he were breathing through molasses.

“And we're not forcing anything, I swear. Pattern could tell you. I'm not lying. We’re not lying.”

Syl tilted her head, then looked to Kaladin and nodded.

Adolin rushed on, after a moment of silence. “We understand if it's already too weird. Jezrien knows, this isn't a normal situation. But… we, we could try something. If you want. All three of us.”

“It’s possible,” Shallan said. “There’s--people have done that before. Precedent. I can research, we can--we could ask people, I’m sure, we have the Oathgate available to us, and--we could figure something out. We could. If you want.”

He still didn't respond, trying to parse through their words. They let him, but Kaladin could feel their anxiety like a hum.

This wasn't possible. This had never been a solution, or an option. It had barely been a fantasy. This had to be--a joke, a dream, a false solution, _something_.

But Shallan's hands were shaking, and Adolin's fingers had tightened, almost imperceptibly, on his shoulder. Kaladin could feel them sneaking looks at each other over his head.

This couldn't be real.

But… he _so_ desperately wanted it to be.

Cautiously, carefully, he let himself relax into Adolin’s shoulder, almost nuzzling into his neck, and turned his hands so he was holding Shallan’s.

He heard Shallan’s breath exit her lungs sharply, and Adolin just about sagged in relief. The unspoken acceptance resonated through and around them, drawing them closer to one another.

Syl moved to perch on his knee, smiling up at the three of them. She didn't speak, unwilling to disturb the moment; but Kaladin could tell he was going to be in for a smug lecture later.

Now, though… now Adolin was resting his cheek on his head, and Shallan was letting her head fall onto his shoulder.

It was _real._

They didn't hate him. They didn't feel trepidation or revulsion at his confession. They weren't faking reciprocation at their own cost. They… wanted to make it _work_. All three of them, somehow.

It was so impossible. And yet… here they were.

Kaladin took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out slowly.

No coughing.

No lump.

Just impossible, wondrous peace.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! the rest of this note is essentially gonna be the patch notes; feel free to skip if you feel so inclined. hope you enjoyed!
> 
> edit batch 1: read a post abt how Hanahaki is often used as a manipulative device; corrected to hopefully make it clearer that my version in this fic is based entirely on the victim's preconceived assumptions of reciprocation, not on the actuality of reciprocation, and thus can be cured by eliminating those assumptions, whether by confirming or denying them. also tried to make more explicit the fact that Kaladin recognizes that it's a him problem and it isn't up to Adolin and Shallan to fix it.


End file.
